


The Cold Kiss of Death

by Alexandria_K



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, Eventual Smut, F/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Sex, Slow Burn, Torture, Tsundere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-02-27 15:37:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18741967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexandria_K/pseuds/Alexandria_K
Summary: Yuleira of House Vaalior is a valiant marksman from the East. After travelling beyond the Wall to aid in Jon Snow's ranging party, she finds herself stranded in the icy tundra of the far North. With her companions gone, she's left amidst the company of none other than the Night King.





	1. Beyond the Wall

Yuleira laid upon the ground in shock. The blow had been vicious. The Wight that had wounded her was dead, but the creature had left its mark. Her laceration was grave. Blood pooled in the snow below her. She felt faint with its loss, but felt little pain. The cold had numbed her wound. Helplessly, Yuleira laid her tawny cheek back upon the snow. It stung her flesh, the biting cold merciless to her suffering.

 _Tormund was right,_ she thought, gritting her teeth. _It was a foolhardy mission to travel beyond the Wall._

Suddenly, a piercing, painful cry ushered from the sky above. Yuleira raised her cheek once more, gazing into the white expanse above. She shuddered as her eyes caught sign of its source. It was the aid of their ranging party. One of the Targaryen’s dragons had been struck mid-flight. The creature shrieked in pain, blood pouring endlessly from a wound in its neck. It struck the ground with a resounding thud before sinking eerily into the icy waters below.

Trembling with trepidation, Yuleira’s eyes were drawn the source of the gore. There, she found the origin of their terrors, the very Night King himself. Already, the White Walker was poised with another javelin, aiming the blade at the remnants of the party. The wounded woman held her breath, watching perilously as she caught sight of Jon’s familiar form. He had seen the Night King’s dark intent, and with a thunderous cry, called out to the Targaryen woman.

Alerted to the danger, the Targaryen managed to dodge the treacherous shot. Jon’s eyes sought Yuleira’s, and the remaining pair exchanged a look of exhaustive relief. The dragon and their party was soon engulfed into the colorless sky, safe from the wrath of the Night King. Although death crept quietly upon her, Yuleira’s fear was blighted by their safe departure. The had secured their evidence of the White Walker’s existence. Although she and Jon had been left behind, the mission was complete.

Unable to hold herself up any longer, Yuleira relaxed back into the frigid ground. The details of the icy tundra were beginning to blur around the edges of her peripherals. Faintly, she caught sight of Jon amongst the snowy landscape. He struggled furiously with two Wights, but she was powerless to aid him. She had lost too much blood. The sight of it pooled beneath her made her shudder. A stray tear froze upon her cheek as her vision went empty and black.

A languid awakening welcomed Yuleira back to the living.

Cold and pain lingered upon her body. Her laceration, no longer blighted by the numbing snow, ached sharply. She hissed in pain, writhing upon the ground below. Death felt preferable to her bodily suffering and the numbing cold in her limbs. With some effort, the woman opened her dark eyes, observing a vision above her more frightening than that of a lonely death. It was he who struck fear into the living. The legend that had roamed her mind as a child and spurred her fear of darkness. That which filled the night with terrors.

The Night King.

Yuleira gasped for air, coughing as the biting cold filled her lungs. She could not speak nor move. Fear paralyzed her chilly limbs. She could only stare into his azure eyes, brilliant blue like polished sapphires. They penetrated deeply into her heart, filling her with the most poignant dread. She observed his pale aspect with quiet panic. The Night King wore no expression. His features were as rigid and cold as a column of ice. Breathlessly, her dark eyes sought his until a spasm of pain arrested her attention.

She cried out in subdued anguish, gritting her teeth and holding her wound. Her breathing became shallow, and for a moment, the pain made her ill. She closed her eyes and grew faint. When she regained herself once more, she found the Night King still poised above her. Without warning, he knelt down by her side and lifted a pale, clawed finger towards her. Instinctually, Yuleira struck his hand away.

Regret was instantaneous.

Her eyes darted frightfully to his face. There, she found no change in emotion. No annoyance, no rage, no promise of violence. Instead, the Night King took hold of her wrist, and with one fluid motion pulled the injured woman across the ground, ushering her into a small apartment. It was then that Yuleira became cognizant of her surroundings. Below her, the floor was of a dark cobblestone. The walls were made of shoddy wood that could barely keep the icy winds at bay. Seated in the little room, she watched the Night King turn from her, shutting the door as he departed.

“Please,” she cried into the silent cold.

Turning imperceptibly, the White Walker’s blue eyes found hers for a moment. Then, with an air of immense indifference, the Night King exited the room and shut the door behind him.

Yuleira passed many hours in the small, damp apartment. The room was minute as a closet. It held no furniture or objects. Through the cracks of the wood the frigid air bit her skin. She curled herself into a tight ball, ignoring the pain the motion evoked from her wound. The armour and fur her Northern friends had parted on her did little to warm her. Her fingers were utterly numb and raw with cold.

It was not like Yuleira to cry. Despite being a woman, she was a worthy fighter. While she did not wield a sword with any great skill, her abilities with a blade were moderate. Her true calling was a bow and arrow. Her marksmanship was superior and rivaled that of men. Her talents had made her a sought after fighter in the Eastern realm. A violent strike and a blade wound were not enough to tease tears from her eyes. Her current predicament, however, left her cheek wet and cold.

At length, an agitated slumber arrested her. She fell in and out of tortured nightmares, woken in intervals by the piercing cold. After the passing of a full day, the door of her tiny apartment crashed open, awakening her with a violent start. Yuleira moaned with pain as she shielded her eyes from the light. A figure loomed before her. That of an unfamiliar man with dark, shaggy hair and a full beard. His figure was large, both in height and in girth and his face was displeasing to her eye.

“Had a good rest?” The man’s voice called into her small alcove.

When she did not respond, a gruff laugh issued from his chest. He tossed a large bowl at her feet then swung the door closed, casting her back into darkness. Yuleira grabbed the bowl immediately. The smell was horrid and the taste was putrid, but her hunger was enormous. She ate down the mealy contents with ease. With the bowl licked clean, her stomach still ached with hunger. It was not enough to quell her neglected appetite.

Her next meal did not come for another full day. The mysterious man returned in the same fashion, grisly features dancing with arcane amusement at her suffering. This time, he provided a drought of water with the unpalatable meal. She drank down the contents greedily and doused her hunger with what she could from the meager bowl of food.

This pattern repeated itself for four days. On the inception of the fifth, Yuleira found herself hot and feverish. Her contents from the day before remained uneaten in its bowl. She was too faint and weary. Her wound had borne infection and made her ill. The cold of the small apartment did nothing to ease her suffering or mediate her illness. When the man visited her that evening, he looked her over meticulously.

“You look like shit,” he laughed.

He slammed the door shut once more. An hour of shivering anguish passed before a voice penetrated the darkness of her minute alcove. It was that of the man. He spoke in conversation with another, but she could not hear the voice of his partner. She could only catch bits and pieces of his words. Patching together what she could, she realized he was speaking of her impending death.

The voice hushed and door creaked open once more. Instead of the fat, gruesome man, her vision bore that of the Night King. Instinctual terror palpated in her chest, but was quickly extinguished by her feverish sickness. The White Walker regarded her with his cool, blue gaze, then walked forward into the chamber and swept Yuleira from the ground. She moaned with displeasure at being moved. Every nerve in her body protested with a shockwave of pain.

Faintly, she was carried from the apartment upon his shoulder. She beheld, as she existed her frigid, dark prison, the familiar man standing in the space outside her little room. It was a large living area with a blazing fire. Crude wooden furniture and a crafting table peppered the abode. At the terminus of the fire was large rug, made of a bear hide. The Night King placed her down upon it without an ounce gentleness.

There, his pale hands removed her bloody armour and fur cloak. When he reached her inner clothing, the White Walker raised the hem of her undershirt and exposed her abdomen. Glancing down, she beheld her infected wound. The flesh was bruised and lacerated badly. The lesion oozed with congealed blood and infection. A glance betraying irritation appeared upon the Night King’s countenance. Turning slightly, he directed the expression at the man, who now stood behind them upon the bear-hide rug.

Turning his attention back to her, the ancient being placed one hand the wound. Immediately, a penetrating cold shot through her abdomen. She cried out in agony, grabbing at his steely arm. It was the worst pain Yuleira had ever felt. Worse than the aching cold or the burning cut of the blade. Just as quickly as the pain appeared, it diminished in an instant. The Night King retracted his palm and Yuleira gazed down at her bare stomach in astonishment.

The wound was gone.

In its place was cold, unbroken skin and minor bruising.

Astonished, Yuleira stole a frightened glance at the Night King. His aspect was as cold and impenetrable as ever. With the vision of his vibrant blue eyes and lurid visage dancing in her dark eyes, she collapsed into the depths of painless sleep. The warmth of the blazing fire restored her numb fingertips. The hide beneath her body kept her comfortable. Pain from her wound no longer accosted her. Even the sick, feverish infection had eased away. She slept peacefully, waking several hours later to the dying embers of the fire.

Yuleira shivered and grasped fitfully for her fur cloak. Finding it, she wrapped herself in its warmth before settling her gaze on the strange man. His unseemly face was loathsome to her. He wore an expression that made her skin crawl. Idly, he sat upon the wooden couch before the fire. His ruddy green eyes watched her every movement with with a strange, perverse glee.

“Feeling better, eh?” Smiling, he revealed a set of yellow teeth and beckoned her forward.

Yuleira did not stir.

“Who are you? And where am I?” Yuleira had not used her voice in days. Her words escaped as broken whispers, gaining strength with each new sentence spoken. “Why are you acquainted so with the Night King?”

The man smiled wider, raising one shaggy brow with amusement.

“My, how well spoken _ye_ are,” he answered with his gruff voice. “Ye must be a lady. Pretty as one, that’s for damn sure.” Yuleira grimaced and repeated her question, but the large man only continued his train of thought. “Not from the North, are ye though? Got the look of the East about ye.” The man surveyed her long chestnut curls and tan flesh with interest. “What a damn treat _ye_ are.”

“I am not a lady,” she exclaimed suddenly, gritting her teeth. “I am a fighter, and perfectly capable of putting an arrow between your brows.” Yuleira rose to her feet with a start, staggering slightly as she rose. Her words had evoked amusement from the mountainous man. He chuckled at her threat, a gesture that only stroked her ire. “I demand you answer my questions!”

“Calm yerself, little beauty,” he laughed, licking his lips. “Ye’ll put ill deeds in my mind worked up into a fiery passion as ye are.” Cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders, the man settled his eyes upon her and began to explain. “Galis is my name. Ye’re beyond the Wall. A guest in my home.” The man watched Yuleira’s face drop as he spoke. “As for the Night King, I work for ‘em. Make weapons for his Wights. Steal pieces of information from the livin’. For that, I keep my life.”

Yuleira frowned, disgust growing on her features.

“Then you betray the living?” She spoke, voice cold as ice. “You are revolting.”

“Bah!” He exclaimed, tossing his hand in the air. “Fuck the livin’! I spit on ‘em.” Accordingly, the man spit upon the ground before him before flashing her a cheeky grin. “Night King can’t be stopped. Join ‘em or die, I say.”

“I’m leaving,” pronounced Yuleira. “I _will_ be a hand to the living in this war!”

“And ye’ll freeze to death doing it!” The man rose, grabbing Yuleira by the arm as she approached the door to the abode. She struck at his hand like a viper, and he released her with a hearty chuckle. “Ye’ll not make it to the livin’ in this cold. Ye’ll be dead and marching with _his_ army before nightfall.”

Yuleira felt her will wilt in her chest. As much as she hated to admit it, the man was right. She was not equipped well enough to brave the cold. Additionally, she did not know how far beyond the Wall she was. If she were to leave the shabby cottage, she would freeze and die in the glacier climate. Although she had traveled throughout Westeros all her life, at her core she was an Eastern woman. The Northern climate was too much to bear in her present state.

Yuleira sighed with defeat. The man read the surrender in her eyes, and smiled with devilish gladness.

“What does the Night King want with me?” The words fell from her lips in a near whisper, fear once more rising in her chest at the thought of him. “Why has he kept me alive?”

A smile broke upon the man's bearded lips.

“Information.”

Yuleira stole a confused glance at him.

“Information? Of what kind?”

“Of the livin’, of course,” he answered, walking to the center of the living area. “He wants to know what they’re plannin’. Things I’m sure ye know,” he finished, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Even if I did know,” she shouted, stamping her foot into the cobblestone below, “I’d never say a word!”

With a loud crash, the front door of the abode tore open.

Yuleira faltered, stepping backwards into the center of the room as her eyes beheld the Night King. His towering form entered silently, blue eyes surveying both Yuleira and Galis.

“Yes, she’s quite better,” the grisly man said, suddenly.

Yuleira glanced back at him, then forward to find the Night King advancing towards her. She tried to pivot from him, but was caught by her arm and pulled into the direction of the the far wall. She struggled in his grasp, but could not break his inhuman hold upon her. With a powerful thrust, he threw her against the wooden surface. Yuleira watched, frightfully, as the large man departed the abode, leaving her alone with the leader of the White Walkers.

Glancing back to the Night King, her eyes began to sting with tears. She was ashamed at her fear, but could not hold back the floodgates of anguish. Death loomed in his very air. His eyes spliced into her soul and permeated it with terror. She could barely breathe in his close proximity. Pressed tightly against the wall, she looked up into his cold, indifferent face. She feared him violently, not daring to move though he did nothing to restrict her.

“Please,” the world fell crippled from her lips. “Please, don’t--don’t hurt me.”

Something strange happened next, a phenomenon that Yuleira could not explain. A masculine voice, deep, sleek, and baritone filled her ears. The language was indecipherable to her. It spoke the Old Tongue, a language she was not familiar with. Despite this discrepancy, somehow, Yuleira understood the words that were spoken. 

“ _Your pain is dependent on your obedience_ ,” spoke the voice. “ _If you are obedient, you will not suffer._ ” Yuleira’s eye widened. Her dark gaze settled upon the bright blue of the Night King’s. “ _If you disobey me, however, I promise only the opposite_.”

Yuleira stared, dumbfounded, at the White Walker before her. It _was_ the Night King. That dark, silken voice belonged to him. Somehow, he was speaking to her, his words transposing themselves into her mind’s eye. Though she could not understand the Old Tongue, she understood each word uttered with absolute clarity.

 _“Now,_ ” he continued, “ _Tell me of the North’s plans._ ” Yuleira glanced up at his tall, imposing figure with fear. “ _How many men assemble? What is the status of their weapon hordes?_ ”

Yuleira did not speak.

Part of her was too frightened to utter a word. The other half held firm to her loyalty. She would not disclose the secrets of the living to the Night King and his army. Though she knew considerably little, what she did know could potentially cause an upset to her Northern friends and the Targaryen's army. She hoped, in that moment, that John Snow had made it back from beyond the Wall. Praying, as she did, that the Wight her party abducted would convince Queen Cersei to join their cause.

After a moment of strained silence, the whirring of air and the splintering of wood exploded at her left ear. She shrieked, discovering a glittering blade thrust into the wall near her cheek. Absently, she touched the flesh of her face. Blood was visible on her trembling fingertips. The blade had grazed her tawny skin, just enough to draw blood.

Looking up at him, Yuleira found the Night King’s gaze trained intently on her. His blue eyes were full of silent warning beneath his pale brow. He took a step forward, positioning his imposing figure inches from her lithe frame. A cry stifled in her throat as one hand ascended to her neck. She gasped, a moan of pain erupting from her lips as the Night King’s nails bit into her flesh. With that single hand, he compressed her windpipe ardently and with little effort.

Yuleira grasped at the oppressing hand, choking as he held her firmly against the wall. When she could not move him, she began to tear at him wildly, writhing in his tight hold like a serpent. Then, the edges of her vision began to darken. Her movements became slower, limbs falling heavily at her side. Just as the veil of darkness threatened to ascend across her eyes, the Night King let her go.

Yuleira fell to the floor in a frenzy, gasping wildly for breath. She coughed, holding her bruised neck in pain. From above, the White Walker watched her struggle with a composed air. When the woman’s struggling ceased, his deep, grave voice sounded once again in her mind.

“ _Tomorrow you will disclose the details regarding their plans._ ” With a fluid movement, he dislodged the blade from the wall and placed it back into his belt. “ _Galis will resume your questioning on my behalf._ ”

With his dark promise uttered, the Night King left the cottage. Yuleira could only watch his tall, dark figure walk from the abode. Bitter tears tore through her eyes. Following the White Walker’s departure, the loathsome man returned and fiendishly tossed her back into the damp, cold apartment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Night King is just so sexy. I had to write this fiction. I am a peruser of only the TV series, not the book, so my writing is based on that alone. What hasn't been accounted for by the show I've used my imagination to fill in the holes. If you enjoy this, let me know! I may continue. Till next time!


	2. Cross Examination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Rape elements present in this chapter.
> 
> This chapter was orginally quite long, however, I cut it in half to give you all a little something since I wasn't sure when I'd finish!

Making well of his word, Galis resumed where the Night King left off. Every morning, Yuleira was dragged from her little room and subjected to a long, drawn out session of questioning and torture. Galis, she found, was somehow more monstrous than the Night King. He choked her roughly, twisted her limbs, and struck her ferociously with a countenance of delight. Yuleira preferred the stoic, indifferent aspect of the White Walker to this macabre enjoyment.

At the close of the each day, after Galis had exhausted his energy, she was returned to her small apartment. Here, she was presented with a bowl of meal and drought of water. Aching and broken, Yuleira spent the remainder of the night trying to sleep between the biting cold and fresh pain.

On the fourth day of her questioning, Galis struck her hard in the ribs with metal rod. Yuleira, who had tried her utmost not to cry or scream throughout these sessions, released a unstifled wail. A malicious grin alighted on Galis’s face. He stooped forward to where she shuddered on the floor and smiled.

“That hurt, did it?” Yuleira showered a look of malice on him before spitting into his face. Galis frowned, then grabbed her by her jaw and pulled her face towards his. “Now, don’t be nasty! I don’t want break in that pretty face ye have in.” His features grew more perverse, and he drew one large, fat thumb down her cheek. Yuleira recoiled in disgust, squirming as he moved his hand to her thick, dark curls, petting the crown of her head. “It’d be a shame to ruin such a beauty.”

He laughed heartily, releasing her before grabbing his wooden cup of ale. He took a long drought and licked his lips. Yuleira despised his fat, lengthy form and his ugly, bloated face. Quietly, she fantasized about killing him slowly and meticulously with her bow and arrows. The fantasy was disrupted too soon. Galis returned, grabbing a fistfull of her hair and tossing her into the corner of the room.

“Now tell me, lovely thing. How does is the North goin’ to go about this fight?”

Yuleira only shook her head. She would not acquiesce to Galis or the Night King. Galis took another swig of ale, shrugged, then raised the metal rod in the air and struck her once more.

This rueful pattern repeated itself for half of a fortnight. During this time, the Night King showed his pallid face only once. Arriving to the abode, he spoke briefly with Galis in the mysterious way he had with Yuleira. Then, he left, disappearing like a shadow and barely glancing at Galis’s handiwork. Once the White Walker had departed, Galis turned to her, shaking his head in disappointment at her failure to bend.

On the conclusion of her seventh day of questioning, Yuleira was shown to her dark, icy room. Despite the damp and cold, it was her favorite part of the day in her newfound existence. Galis’s ghastly form and foul disposition made her tremble with both anger and disgust. His methods of questioning had grown ever more repugnant. During their latest session, he had fastened her wrist to a coat hanger and drawn his metal rod up the length of her torso, then down beneath her thighs.

Hot tears of mortified disgust blinded her as she recalled the memory. His perverted nature made her skin crawl. His words, often laced with lewd phrases, made her increasingly uncomfortable. As she rested in her little alcove, trying her best to put these thoughts to rest, the sound of footsteps sounded outside of the door. Yuleira held her breath, praying silently that he would leave her alone. Instead, the door swung open, revealing Galis’s familiar and unwanted face.

“What do you want?” She hissed, voice seething with venom.

Galis scratched his wild, lengthy beard before smiling gruesomely at her.

“I’ve held back as long man can,” he uttered in a low, hungry voice. “It’s been hard with a beauty like ye dangling in front of me everyday.” Yuleira’s blood ran cold as she deciphered the meaning behind his words. “I want a taste of ye myself.”

At once, Yuleira bolted upright and attempted to flee. She was caught with little effort by the large, mountainous man. He grabbed her roughly by her hair, pulling her from her apartment with torturously slow movements. Yuleira cried out as loudly as she could. She strained her vocal cords until Galis had arrested her upon the ground, placing one large, dirty hand upon her mouth.

“No one is going to help ye now, precious thing.” With his free hand, the man captured her wrists and pinned them above her head. Then, with more effort, forced one large knee between her legs and slipped between them. Terrified, Yuleira bit his hand and screamed with renewed effort. When she strained her vocal chords beyond repair, she collapsed into fitful of sobs.

“Don’t,” she pleaded, “I’ll tell you anything! I’ll tell you everything!”

“Oh?” Returned Galis, planting a sloppy kiss upon her shoulder.

Yuleira shuddered, sobbing out her words with passion.

“I’ll tell you what I know! Many of the Northern houses will fight! They have the support Daenerys Targaryen. She has three--no, _two_ dragons,” Yuleira stopped to shudder out another cry. “The Targaryen has an army of Unsullied and Dothraki on her side. They also hope to enlist the help of the Crown!”

Galis paused. Pulling back from her shoulder, he looked thoughtfully at her.

“How wonderful of ye to tell me darlin’. Now, where were we?”

Yuleira’s face fell.

Her gruesome host had no intention of stopping.

Forcefully, Galis tore the underclothes from her body with a vicious hand. With her breasts freed, a vision that filled him with glee, he worked on the strings of her pants. Yuleira could do little but scream out in horror. She could not move from below him, his form was far too heavy and large. As he found her bare thighs with his hands, rough fingers searching her soft flesh, he suddenly stopped.

His movements arrested, a strange expression filtered upon Galis’s face. Releasing Yuleira, he stood upon his knees above her, naked from the waist down. The man placed his hand upon the center of his chest with astonishment. Then, in one fluid movement, the tip of a sword punctured his flesh. Yuleira watched the blade slice through him, blood pouring from his chest cavity following the flash of silver. Abruptly, the sword was violently swept upwards, and the man was severed from chest to shoulder. Yuleira cried out in astonishment as his bisected body fell to the left of her with a resounding thump. Her dark eyes widened as they grazed the face to whom the sword belonged.

It was the familiar aspect of the Night King.

A flurry of sobs erupted from the woman’s chest. She shrank back from the corpse of her abuser and held herself in a tight ball. With a swoop of his arms, Yuleira watched the Night King remove his large, dark cloak. He knelt to where she shuddered upon the floor and wrapped the garment upon her nude body. With the cloak fastened tightly around her, he rose once more, his features masked in impenetrable cold. Yuleira held the cloak close to her body, tears cascading down her tired cheeks.

“Don’t leave,” she cried, her voice smaller than it’s ever been.

The Night King arrested his step.

Turning on his heel, his azure eyes sought her dark, frightened gaze. She could not decipher his mien, but felt comfort in the face of his indecipherable expression. It was heaven compared to the perverse, lecherous gaze of Galis. Yuleira climbed to her feet and ran to him without caution. When she reached his tall, imposing figure, she clasped her arms around the length of his chest.

“Don’t leave me,” she repeated.

She trembled in his arms and, after a moment, the White Walker placed a single hand upon her back. The movement was stiff and automatic, lacking any virtue of feeling. Yuleira held fast to him this way for some time. Then, the Night King pulled her from his body. He held her before him and placed his thumb upon her forehead. At the cessation of the touch, Yuleira fell limp. He caught her in his arms, carried her to the bear-hide rug before the fire, and quietly left the small abode. 

 


	3. Questions Unanswerd

Hours passed in Yuleira’s deep slumber. Outside, the icy winds violently dashed the cottage. Its howl filled the air, whistling through the gaps in the wooden walls. Beside her, the fire kindled quietly, wood crackling in the dim light of the room. Soon, daylight engulfed the pervading darkness, and with its inception the ferocious winds waned. The fire, having exhausted the bulk of its fuel, died silently and left coldness in its wake.

Yuleira woke to this startling cold. Though her slumber had been peaceful, she ached with growing intensity. The memory of Galis’s blows haunted her flesh. She was bruised from the hard reprimands she had earned during their questioning. For a moment, the memory of Galis made her tremble. She feared of the impending torture, his lewd touches, the endless pain and cold. When she remembered the man was dead, severed nearly into two by the Night King himself, she relaxed.

Galis _was_ dead.

He would not hurt her anymore.

The evidence of his viseration was bathed upon the ground. She saw the crimson pool of his drying blood, though his body was gone. For that, she was grateful. The mere memory of his face made her grimace with disgust. He had tried, and nearly succeeded, in raping her. Yuleira had never suffered such a fate before, and was happy that she escaped the devastating experience. The Night King had killed his informer and weapon crafter for the heinous act, a fact that surprised her greatly.

Why had he killed Galis? Why had he _saved_ her?

Free now to walk about the shoddy cottage, Yuleira put her thoughts aside and rose cautiously from the bear-hide rug to inspect her surroundings. She was already acquainted with the living room, having been questioned and battered by Galis for many days in its space. Opposite of the fireplace, her eyes sought a door on the far end of the room. Within this door was a staircase leading up to roomy living chamber. The room was home to a bed, small wooden table, and another modest fireplace.

Realizing that his room had been Galis’s, Yuleira recoiled in disgust. She quickly stripped the room of any and all remnants of him. Sentimental items and objects she did not find useful were tossed into the fire. The bed coverings, which smelled distinctly of him, were discarded into the small apartment downstairs. She would need to wash the stench of him from the bedding. For now, she made use of the mattress and what thick, clean clothing Galis had about the abode.

With the fire roaring in the upstairs apartment, and Yuleira well-covered with warm clothing, she felt a semblance of contentment. This mild comfort was broken only by the bruising on her body, brought forth by Galis’s torture, and the memory of the Night King.

Three days passed in peaceful silence. Yuleira washed the bedding with melted snow and soap. Her hands ached with cold. To her chagrin, the blankets took several days to dry completely in the frigid cold. She squandered food from the pantry, finding there were much better nourishments to eat than the putrid meal she had been fed. To ease her peace of mind, she placed the heavy crafting table against the front door at night. It was not a comfortable or happy existence. Yuleira was merely surviving.

One night, as Yuleira sat beneath the warm covers of the upstairs compartment, she heard the distinct sound of the door downstairs swing ajar, clattering into the crafting table. Fear mingled in her breast as the crash reverberated through the cottage. She rose quickly, throwing on her fur cloak and quietly descending the wooden stairwell. When she reached its terminus, she held her breath and pressed herself against the adjoining wall. The blue eyes and the pale, marked features that glistened in the darkness made her shiver.

The Night King had returned.

Remaining against the wall, Yuleira held her palm tightly against her mouth. Fear and the frigid cold turned her skin into gooseflesh. She dreaded the unknown. How would the Night King receive her? The White Walker had executed Galis, thus sparing her from a horrible fate. Still, the memory failed to relieve her anxieties regarding his intentions. Would the he resume her violent cross-examination?

“ _Remove yourself from your hiding place,_ ” broke a voice into her mind.

Unwittingly, Yuleira’s cried out in surprise. The vibration of his smooth, chilly voice ushered a shiver throughout her body. Although her mind sought to obey him, fear conquered her heart. Breathlessly, she pivoted on the stairwell, racing back towards the upper apartment. There, she struggled with the window, seeking to unbolt its metal fastenings and escape.

The sound of heavy, measured footsteps broke from below. Their rhythmic pace heightened the panic expanding in her chest. Straining to unfasten the bolt, she sobbed out in frustration. The bottom latch was rusted shut. Despite her valiant attempt to move it, the bolt remained fastened shut. When the footsteps reached the base of the bedroom door, Yuleira froze. Trembling, she turned slowly towards the interior of the room. Standing in the doorway was the Night King.

The White Walker stood imposingly between the shoddy door frame. His arms were crossed tightly against his chest. Beneath his pallid brow, his piercing sapphire eyes glimmered in the darkness. Yuleria held fast to the window sill for support. Her breathing had become shallow, each breath escaping painfully from between her lips.

“ _I had asked you to remove yourself from your hiding place_ ,” erupted his dark, silky voice

Yuleria’s lips parted silently. His baritone words, engulfing her consciousness like velvet, was as startling then as the first time she heard it. Attempting to rectify her nerves, Yuleria swallowed hard and opened her mouth to speak.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, focusing on the ground below. “I-I didn’t mean to.”

After several moments of silence, the Night King advanced towards her. Yuleria began to cry as she watched his armoured boots close the distance between them. The fear he inspired in her was unlike any she had felt before. She was unsure of what fate awaited her at his hands. As the White Walker stopped within inches of her lithe frame, he abruptly grabbed her jaw, casting her gaze upwards towards his own.

“ _The Northerners, Dothraki, Unsullied, the Crown, and two fully grown dragons. That is the extent of their armies?_ ” Staring into his icy blue eyes, Yuleria nodded absently. “ _There is nothing else you wish to tell me?_ ”

“I know nothing else,” Yuleria whispered pleadingly. “I only just arrived in Winterfell not long ago.”

The Night King gazed piercingly at her. He searched her eyes intensely, firmly holding her slight jaw in his pale hand. After several seconds, he let her go, and Yuleria crumbled upon the ground below. She sat on her knees, hands pressed firmly to her rapidly beating heart. The White Walker moved into the center of the room. He stood solemnly, his calm air betrayed by a pensive look upon his pale features.

“Will you let me go now?” She asked cautiously, her voice blighted and small.

The Night King answered her without pause.

“ _With Galis dead, I cannot let you go_ ,” echoed his deep, ancient voice. _“I will need another weapon crafter to assist my army_.”

“But--But I cannot craft weapons!” Yuleria cried out in dismay, climbing to her feet.

The Night King shot a biting glance that silenced her. With a few long steps, he put inches between them once more. Yuleria wrapped her arms around herself as she was ushered into the wall. Though the White Walker’s expression was impenetrable, his pale lips were drawn into a tight line.

“ _You may be useful, or you may be dead_. _The choice is yours_.”

The words were whispered darkly into her mind. She shivered as they penetrated her to the core.

“Please, I’ve exhausted my usefulness to you!”

Yuleria meant to continue her plea, but was arrested abruptly by a pain in her ribs. The pain from Galis’s beatings was often difficult to suppress. All the movement that evening had made their ache intolerable. Sucking in a sharp breath, she held her side in anguish, closing her eyes as the memory Galis’s metal rod burned on her flesh. The pain made her forget the White Walker’s present for a moment. At her next interval of self-awareness, she found herself laid upon the bed, with the Night King standing beside her.

“ _Where is the pain?_ ” His dark, velvet voice inquired.

Yuleria struggled to find her voice, but eventually pointed to her rib cage. Without another word, the Night King pushed aside her fur cloak and raised her tunic. Much like before, he placed a single palm upon the affected area. His cool hand upon her bare skin made her shudder.

“Y _our ribs are broken_ ,” his voice echoed.

The sound of his voice terminated with the same, familiar pain from before. It shot through her like ice cold lightning. In the next instant, the affliction was gone, replaced only by a lingering coolness. The Night King retracted his hand, and Yuleria searched her abdomen with wonder. The pain in her ribs had disappeared. If they were broken before, they were broken no longer. Yuleria shifted her gaze to the Night King, staring silently at the ancient being beside her. Fascination and fear mingled in her breast as she beheld his sharp, striking features. His cobalt eyes were entirely unrevealing of thought or emotion.

How did he evoke this strange power?

Why use it to help her again?

Abruptly, the White Walker rose from her bedside and his smooth voice glided once more into her mind. 

“ _When I have thought of a way to make you useful, I will return._ ”

Yuleria watched him turn on his heel and advance towards the bedroom door. Struck with a sudden passion, the woman jumped unceremoniously from the bed. Hoping to her feet, she dashed to the corner of the room, picking up a dark, heavy cloak.

“Wait!” She called anxiously, stumbling towards his departing figure.

Her voice arrested the Night King’s movements. He paused at the threshold of the doorway, watching silently as Yuleria clambered to where he stood. Cautiously, she presented him with the dark cloak. It was the article he had used to preserve her modesty on the night of Galis’s assault. Shifting his gaze to her outstretched hand, he appropriated the cloak, swinging it across his shoulders smoothly.

“I thank you,” the woman muttered softly, “I feared no one would come to help me.”

Yuleira wrapped her slender arms around her shoulders. The memory made her shudder. Recalling Galis’s large, dirty hands upon her flesh was abominable. Unbidden tears slipped from her dark lashes. She lifted her eyes to the Night King, surrendering the entirety of her sorrow in a single glance.

“Why save me?” She began again, curiosity burning in her dark eyes. “Galis was very useful to you, was he not? What value do I hold over him?"

Yuleira waited patiently for his response. Searchingly, she stared up into his stoic features. His pale, lurid face and ice-blue eyes revealed nothing. She could not read his mien, nor could she gauge his intentions.

“Please,” she repeated, quietly.

The Night King’s mouth twitched, ever so slightly, as the ghost of a smirk passed across his pale lips. Then, abruptly, the White Walker shifted his gaze from her and descended into the foyer. Yuleria stood silently after him, watching his tall, dark figure descend the stairwell and disappear through the cottage door. The memory of his azure eyes, brilliant blue like polished sapphires, haunted her as she lingered in the darkness. She wondered at his silence. Had he humanity? No, monsters could not be merciful.

Could they?


End file.
